Penske clapped Marcus on the shoulder, a smile wide on her face.

"Glad to see you made it back alive, kid. What did you think of surface ops?" she walked over to the impeller and stood above it, hands on her hips, skilled eyes scanning the part for any outward signs of damage. Marcus felt uncomfortable, considering what just happened. McCullagh set off the nuke? he wondered to himself, shaken up. He had known her little more than a day, and he had no idea what her story was, or what kind of person she truly was, but the thought of her setting off the nuke in the Methuselah just filled him with more questions, most of which Wyatt had already asked earlier. He looked at Penske, standing over the impeller, and at the Hrungnir suit, which wasn't supposed to be aboard the Methuselah, let alone the Enoch. He wasn't necessarily bothered that Penske had her mind on work instead of what had just occurred, but he felt she would have at least commented on it. What they had witnessed was unprecedented; a marine, escorted away in cuffs.

"I think I'll stick to replacing oil filters and checking rotor health," he said. He knew you didn't get to being Penske's advanced age and rank by asking questions, so for now, he would keep mum about what had happened. "Although the new suit is a joy to operate. Really, Penske, I mean it. It puts the Ringlefinches to shame." Penske looked up at the Hrungnir suit with a grin.

"Oh yeah, I bet. I've worked on a Hrungnir once or twice, they're a whole different kind of animal," she said. "Though it looks like you've banged this one all to hell, Marcus. What the hells did you do to it?" She walked over to the Hrungnir, clicking her tongue. The suit did look rough. Armor plates bent back, and in one case, just hanging on a hinge. Almost the entire front of the suit was covered in chuma gore, with a few meaty chunks dried on in some places. Marcus winced. Now that he saw it clearly in the hold's harsh bright light, the suit did look like he abused the hells out of it.

"You should see what happened to the other guy," he told Penske. The older woman eyed him up and down. She thought for a moment, before speaking.

"Chuma?" she asked him. Marcus nodded with a smile, and Penske grinned widely. "Well good godsdamn, Marcus. If you went toe-to-toe with a chuma and came out like this, I'd say you did a good job. I've seen chumas keep killing even with half a magazine tumbling around in their brains. Did you use the saw?" She pointed at the arm-mounted ripper saw, which was the most egregiously covered in dried blood and meat. Marcus nodded.

"Yeah, it was the saw. Glad I took it off Gretel. It saved my life, for sure. The left elbow servo gave out, and I couldn't use the autocannon on that arm to kill up close." Penske kicked the Hrungnir suit with a grin.

"Oh yeah, we'll have a fun time fixing this beauty up. But before we get to have fun, we need to work. I take it this oil impeller was in the best shape, out of the what... four you found? No extras?" Marcus nodded.

"Yeah, this one's the best." he responded. Penske eyed him with an appraising glare.

"How do you know?" she asked him with one eye narrowed.

"I went to the engineering bay aboard the Methuselah, accessed the computer, and found their logs." Marcus thumped the oil impeller with one hand. "This one was put in the most recently. Therefore, without removing each one and taking them apart to look at the internals, that was the best way to guess which one to take." Penske nodded with a grin, and slapped Marcus' shoulder.

"Yeah, that's exactly how you find out. Good shit, kid, I bet this'll work like a dream. Let's get it installed quickly, though, before Modi bursts a vessel." Marcus nodded, and the two got to work. Penske hopped into Hansel, and used the loader suit to lift the part to the rear of the hold, where the cargo crane rails were. In the rear of the hold, the old impeller sat, having already been removed by Penske. Marcus moved the crane's hoist above the new impeller, and lifted it to waist-height. The two began the slow process of moving the part where it was supposed to go. As the two walked behind the part, more questions popped into Marcus' head.

"Ghi says the Enoch got into a duel with the other tank. Did we take any damage?" Marcus asked Penske. The older woman nodded.

"Yeah, sorry you didn't get a proper briefing about that. You have every right to know about it, but it was just swept aside after that business with the marine from the Methuselah, I bet. A few hours after you and the expedition team left, we took a round out of nowhere. I was on the bridge when it happened, talking to Shaw about the drivetrain, because Modi had been complaining that the left side track felt sluggish. The Seditionist tank had been waiting in a rock formation, apparently, because none of our instruments picked it up until it fired." She shook her head. "Obviously nothing penetrated, but it gave us all a hell of a headache. It hit the starboard side, and bounced off. Some people were injured with spalling, but I'm not sure who. I think Thaler would tell us if it was serious, so I imagine they're fine."

The two reached the fore-port engineering passageway, and began the process of lowering the heavy part into the dimly lit tunnel. They turned on their shoulder lamps, and crawled inside.

"Do you know if we got any successful hits in?" Marcus asked. Penske shook her head.

"No, I don't think so. Killigrew is a hell of a shot, but this tank was hiding behind a rock formation, which hid most of its outline. This bastard's fucking crafty, Marcus. It's almost like it killed the Methuselah, and sat waiting for another EMC tank to come investigate." She spat and scowled. "We traded rounds a few more times, before we pulled back a bit, and the enemey tank disappeared. At that point, Wyatt called a retreat, and Modi knew about this canyon nearby, so we've been holed up here since. We knew we couldn't reach the rendesvous point, so we sent Ghi out when daylight came to pick you guys up." Marcus nodded; at the time, he felt abandoned by the Enoch when they weren't at the rendesvous point at the agreed-upon time, but now he understood. The tank takes priority.

The two finally reached the empty socket in which the impeller would be placed. They centered the new impeller over the socket, and gently lowered it into place. Marcus crawled down beside the brackets that mounted the impeller to the tank's framework, and guided it down. With a gentle "clang," it was seated, and the two engineers began torquing the bolts down that held it down. Finally affixed, they began connecting the various oil pipes to the impeller. Marcus' brow furrowed, and he finally decided to ask Penske about the incident earlier.

"What do you think will happen to McCullagh?" he asked her. Penske paused for a moment, before continuing her work.

"Not sure. Interrogation, maybe they'll send her to Command for more interrogation. Your guess is as good as mine." Her voice became much softer. "It's not every day a nuke is set off on Harmattan. What she did was serious, and it puts a lot of eyes on Wyatt." Marcus nodded at her words.

"I just don't understand why. What reason would she have to destroy the Methuselah? I understand scuttling her to avoid the enemy getting ahold of her, but that was not our orders. In that case, the Enoch's cannon would scuttle her, right? I just-" Penske raised a hand, cutting Marcus off.

"Look kid, you're a good engineer, and I genuinely enjoy having you around, so a word of advice from an old fucker that's seen some shit, ok? This reeks of Intelligence's handiwork, which means you need to keep your head down, stop asking questions, and do your fucking job. I mean that as kindly as I can, Marcus." The younger engineer lowered his head, feeling thoroughly rebuked. Penske went back to her task, her expression dark. "I appreciate you talking to me about this and all, and I imagine you trust me, but you never, and I mean never know when someone works for Intelligence. And all it takes is one call, and you disappear. Understand?" Marcus nodded. He had heard the stories, and the hushed whispers from other crewmembers. But he never imagined it was this serious. He never imagined he'd get close to something like this.

"Yeah, I understand," he said quietly. The two continued their work in silence, reconnecting the lines up to the impeller. Once everything was connected, Penske turned to Marcus.

"I'll stay down here and replace the filters, and you put the oil in the line, alright? Make sure not to overfill it" she told him. Marcus nodded, and crawled out of the engineering passageway. He walked to the hold, where they kept barrels of oil for the drivelines. As he walked, he passed other crewmembers, many of whom congratulated him on his safe return. He smiled and thanked them for their kind words, and felt a little better. Then he rounded a corner and almost walked into Claire Young, and Assistant Gunner, apprentice to Killigrew.

Silas Mason's friend.

"Oh," she said as the two almost collided. "Welcome back, Rhyne," she said. She stood stiffly, and her expression was somber. Marcus forced himself to smile, and thanked her. He knew he should just walk past her, to the hold, where he could keep himself busy with his job, but something stopped him. The two stood there awkwardly. Claire Young was tall, with dark skin and brown eyes that usually gave off a sense of warmth. She was the tank's resident musician, and kept many instruments that she played when the crew celebrated or something. However, right now, her eyes lacked their typical warmth and mirth. They were cold, and they looked Marcus up and down. He almost felt shivering under her gaze. Young looked around her, and then back to Marcus.

"Look, I need to ask. Mason was a good friend of mine. Did he die quickly?" she asked. Marcus' heart stopped, and his blood filled with ice. He felt his face pale, and his mouth went dry. He looked at the grates under his feet.

"Yes," he said, "it was quick." There was a moment of silence, before Claire responded.

"Look in my eyes, Marcus," she said. The young engineer did so, trying to steel himself. He looked into her unblinking gaze. After a moment, she tilter her head back slightly.

"You're lying," she said. Marcus felt his guts tie up in knots, and he felt sick. She maneuvered around him, and walked away without another word. Any feeling of warmth and comfort Marcus had restored after Penske's rebuke crumbled to dust. The young engineer sighed, feeling awful, and continued on his way to the hold. He grabbed the barrel of oil, and began walking it to back to the passageway. It was hard work, walking the barrel, but he felt he needed the hard work to keep his mind busy. Out of breath, he reached the passageway, where a pump was recessed into the wall. Marcus opened the barrel, and pulling the hose fromt he pump, slid it into the barrel. He activated the pump, which began pumping the oil into the lines. He watched the levels slowly return back to normal levels, and when the levels normalized, he disengaged the pump and put the hose back in its receptable. As he was closing up the barrel, Penske crawled out of the passageway. She nodded at him.

"Good work Marcus. I'll get to a terminal and check the impeller's activities, and if everything looks ok, I'll tell Modi and Wyatt, and we'll get underway." She clapped him on the shoulder, perhaps as a comforting gesture after her rebuke earlier, and went on her way. Marcus simply nodded, and began walking the barrel back to hold. Only half of the oil had been used, so it needed to be put back where it belonged. As he walked the barrel back, he felt a hand thump his shoulder. He turned around to see the big man himself, Deknost Ginovsky, standing behind him beaming.

"Young Marcus! We did! You got the part back to save our hides, and we made it home in one piece, yes? I even heard Locke was going to be better, which is good news." The big man grinned at Marcus. Despite the giant's joviality, the young man simply couldn't respond in kind. Before he could scrape together a response of some sort, Deknost looked concerned and leaned. "You look like you just ate a lemon, Marcus, why so long faced? Tell old Deknost about it. Is it McCullagh you are sour about?" he asked Marcus. The young engineer shook his head.

"I just ran into Claire Young." he said. Deknost remained frozen for a second, Marcus' sentence registering. He straighted up, and his expression sobered.

"Oh," the big man said. "I understand now. Come, we will eat. That will make you feel better." Deknost waited for a response, to which Marcus shook his head.

"I need to get this barrel back to the hold," he told Deknost. The giant frowned in an exaggeratedway, and clicked his tongue.

"No, no, this will not do," he said. "Engineer Rhyne, moving this barrel is workman work, not engineer work. You should be engineering, not moving barrels," he shook his head. "No, Workman Ginovsky will move this barrel for you. You get to the galley and get some coffee, yes? I know you love your coffee, and you did not get any this morning when Marine Ghi appeared. Go, go, I have this." The giant, without waiting for Marcus' response, grabbed the barrel, and hoisted it on his shoulder as if it were a pillow. While the barrel was only half-full, Marcus still marveled at the ease that the large man showed, lifting the barrel. Deknost winked at Marcus, and then walked towards the hold. Marcus wasn't sure what to do, but after a few moments of thinking, he decided a cup of coffee would do him good. He turned around, and began walking towards the galley.

He made it halfway before he stopped. Finnegan Moneaux, the cook, had been Mason's friend. Would he ask about Mason the way that Claire had? Marcus pondered on this for a moment, and decided. If he askes about Mason, I'll tell him the truth, he thought. The decision to be honest with the friends of the slain made him feel somewhat better, and he continued to the galley. When he entered, the galley was empty, which made sense. Everyone had gotten their breakfasts already, and gone about their duties. Marcus saw Finn attending to a large pot of something behind the serving counter, his back turned. Marcus walked up to the counter and rung a bell that Finn had placed there when people needed him. The older cook startled, and then smiled at the sight of the young engineer. He walked up to the counter.

"Welcome back, Marcus," he said. "What can I get for you? Coffee? A snack for Penske? Name it."

"Coffee, please. The usual," Marcus said. Finn nodded and went to retrieve the coffee. As he waited, the smells of the galley slowly began to warm his nostrils. He drank deeply of the scents. From the scent, he guessed that the pot on the stove was a stew of some sort. While a few dissenters existed, most crew agreed that Finn's best foods were his soups and stews. The stew currently simmering on the burner wasn't a potato stew, judging by the smell, but it still smelled good, and Marcus felt himself longing for a bowl, even though he wasn't really hungry. Such was the magic of Finn's cooking. The aforementioned cook returned with Marcus' coffe, handing it to him with a sad smile. Marcus took it, thanking him. But instead of leaving, he found himself rooted in place. After an awkard moment, he spoke.

"I'm sorry about what happened to Mason, Finnegan." Marcus made eye contact with the older cook, who breathed deeply in a sigh. The cook nodded slowly.

"I appreciate that, Marcus. He was a good kid. I'll miss seeing him around. If you see Claire Young around, though, be kind to her. Apparently she's taking it pretty hard. They were good friends." Finn turned back to stir the stew. Marcus felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. He didn't know Claire and Silas were friends, he barely knew them himself. He turned away from the counter, and sat at a table nearby. I barely knew him, Marcus thought again. Why do I feel so awful about the whole thing? he mused. In truth, it didn't make sense to the young engineer. Aside from Locke, he didn't truly have any friends, and he really didn't know Mason that well. He helped the guy to his bunk when he was mourning the loss of his brother, true, but Marcus had never had a drink with Mason, or had an extended conversation with him. After a few moments of thinking about it, Marcus finally decided on an answer.

I made it back, and he didn't, thought Marcus, and he was a good guy. He had friends. And it's ok to feel bad about his loss. He drank from his coffee. It burned his tongue, and he barely noticed.