Restarting Tyr’s reactor turned out to be the easy part.

Since the computer had followed the correct shutdown procedure instead of an emergency SCRAM, re-initializing the system was simply a matter of inputting the proper sequence. The reactor was frozen, of course, like everything else aboard the ancient battleship, but Mairead rigged up heaters to defrost the more sensitive components. With most of the ice melted, the computer could finally reboot, sending power surging through her couplings and conduits once more.

Getting everything else running again was trickier.

Life support was next on the list, heating the old girl back up and restoring the oxygen exchangers. That took time, given that one couldn’t simply bypass the First Law of Thermodynamics. But bit by bit the temperature climbed, from frigid subzero readings to eventually something more comfortable, though that generated yet another complication for the crew.

When Tyr shut down and its ambient heat eventually radiated away, the atmospheric moisture condensed out into a coating of rime ice across the exposed interior surfaces. Anything sensitive to moisture was safely sealed away, but as the thermometer began climbing back upward, the ship experienced a sudden spring thaw, with water dripping down the bulkheads and collecting in large puddles on the deck. Not only was it a safety hazard, but until they dealt with it, they couldn’t start addressing the much-needed repairs. They put everything on hold as the crew hastily vacuumed up the standing liquid, though it allowed them to top off the reclamation tanks once they filtered the water.

Next came the bodies. There were a lot of bodies.

Tyr had almost a full complement when she disappeared, and unfortunately, not all of them had died on a convenient flat surface, waiting to be scooped up. They also died in their crash couches, in their beds, and in the showers. Some engineers died performing maintenance in cramped crawlspaces, which necessitated going in and dragging out their bodies. The captain’s prediction regarding funeral services was spot on; once they filled the airlock with corpses, whoever was handy would say something like, “Holy Mother Terra, watch over them,” before ejecting the bodies into space. They deserved better, but as the temperature continued to climb, Tyr started getting a bit… ripe. The air scrubbers struggled valiantly to keep up, but with over a thousand cadavers on board, it was a losing battle.

Meanwhile, Mairead’s attention was focused on the engines. Being the crew’s sole Tinker got her out of body recovery, but that still left her with a lot of irons in the fire. With the reactor up and running again, getting the ship to move was her next priority. If the Troika showed up looking for the late and unlamented Doctor Axchxairx, being somewhere else was by far their first choice.

Unfortunately, sitting frozen for well over a century had left the propulsion system in a dangerously flawed condition. If she attempted to fire them up in their current state, they would quickly create a massive burst of energy… and then explode, taking the ship with them. Repairs entailed tearing them down to their cores and rebuilding them from the ground up, a monumental undertaking that had her crawling in and out of the reactor chamber, replacing one damaged component after another. Thankfully Tyr was well stocked with spare parts, otherwise, she’d be forced to tell her captain they’d be better off turning the old girl into a museum. She finished each twenty-hour day exhausted and covered with grease, but after two weeks of effort, the mammoth thrusters roared to life once more.

While Tinkers were the experts in fixing what was broken, all spaceborn Terrans were at least somewhat familiar with basic maintenance. They had to be, given the sheer number of systems involved in daily ship operations, on vessels well past their prime. The rest of the crew were busy running diagnostics throughout the ship, restoring what they could, saving the rest for Mairead when she had a free moment. The main computer had detailed files on every ship’s system, including step-by-step instructions on basic repair, giving the non-Tinkers a leg up as they slowly brought her back from the grave.

Slavko had his hands full with getting the weapons systems back online. The torpedo launchers were the biggest headache, and after spending every waking hour he could on them, it forced him to bring Mairead in on the job. The Tinker wasn’t happy about the interruption, as she was still focused on the engines, but after taking a look she admitted the job was beyond his abilities. Since Remi had made their priorities clear, the gunner moved on to the next item on his list, the torpedoes themselves.

Which is where he ran into a snag.

Torpedoes are complicated pieces of equipment, with engines, navigation, a computer AI to find its target while dodging weapons’ fire thrown its way, topped off with a warhead designed to penetrate a ship’s hull before detonating. A convenient maintenance panel allowed him to run diagnostics on each of the subsystems, but the only way to tell if it actually worked was to fire it at something and observe the result. Of course, once you did that, you no longer had a torpedo. There was no sense in keeping duds on board, but with no one hundred percent reliable test available, how do you tell which ones are which? In the end, it came down to a checklist, grading each component from one to ten, and then using the aggregate score to rank the warheads from the most reliable to the least. It wasn’t perfect… but then what was?

He had better luck with the railguns. The rounds themselves were nothing more than cylindrical chunks of tungsten, requiring only a cursory examination and maybe a bit of filing. The launchers were more complex, but in practical terms really only comprised a series of electromagnets controlled by a circuit that fired them in sequence. Testing the magnets was child’s play, and if one was faulty, they could easily swap it out. The firing circuit was a simple test as well, and after a couple of days’ work, he told his captain that Tyr was once again able to defend herself.

Taking inventory aboard the old battleship forced Isi to become an amateur detective. The computer had a complete list of everything it was supposed to have, including current numbers and specific locations, but he quickly discovered the electronic data had little to do with actual reality. If the list claimed a case of Soya bars was located in compartment 2-105-6-A, it might be there, or it might be in compartment 3-60-1-Q, or it could have been snagged by a crewman and stashed in their quarters, or it might not even exist at all. Whoever had been in charge of record-keeping had at some point apparently thrown up their hands in defeat and started writing pure fiction, though why their captain let them get away with it was beyond him. Maybe there was an emergency they didn’t get time to resolve before the end came.

In the end, he threw out the computer’s inventory and started one from scratch, going compartment by compartment. It was tedious but necessary, and as he worked his way through the ship, a far more comprehensive list emerged. The bigger issue, however, was what to do with all this largess. Foodstuffs were actually the simplest; with the ship frozen solid, most rations were exceedingly well preserved. There had been some spoilage because of moisture, but far less than he’d expected. They had enough food on hand to feed a small army and tucked away here and there; he discovered some hard-to-find delicacies that would fetch quite a price on the black market.

Other items were even easier to deal with. Unless they were some kind of hazard, like a drum of leaking chemicals, he simply noted their location and passed the information on. It was better to let the otters decide how those items would get used than try to guess on his own. Mairead, for example, was well known for being finicky with spare parts, double-checking them herself to ensure they met her specifications. If they didn’t, they got separated out to her “To Do” pile, where she could fiddle with them at her leisure. She might correct their deficiencies so they could be used, or she might repurpose them for something else altogether. Trying to predict which way she’d jump was a fool’s errand, so he didn’t bother trying.

As for the captain, he did his fair share of the repair work, helped lug corpses to the airlock, and assisted with Isi’s inventory, but more than anything else he was busy playing ringmaster, guiding the crew to where he wanted them to go. From the moment Tyr first appeared he’d had a clear vision of their future, knowing it would take more than just a miracle for them to actually pull off. But where another man might have abandoned that dream, Remi had instead embraced it, doubling down when cooler heads might urge caution. If anyone had asked him why he would have found it difficult to answer, and as long as he kept busy, he didn’t have to.

When he finally called an end to their day’s labors, when he and the others crawled off to their bunks to collapse with exhaustion, in those quiet moments he wrestled with something quite unfamiliar… a crisis of faith. Not because of the strength of his convictions, but instead their utter lack. Remi was a pragmatist; first, foremost, and always. It was a hard old universe, and you did what you had to in order to survive. No one was going to give you special treatment or make things easier, and everyone walks alone.

But seeing Tyr appear on their screen, this mythic ship of legends, something clicked inside him. He couldn’t explain it, and the more he gnawed at the problem, the more he realized it had actually been brewing for some time, all the way back to that first mission to Earth. Learning of the Precursor homeworld, seeing ravaged Terra with his own two eyes, discovering from Samara just how deep the Troika’s claws were sunk into their flesh, watching Freya’s rebirth at the hands of those who refused to give up, and yes… even Maggie’s stubborn contrariness, those experiences had altered him somehow. The man who captained Gyrfalcon as a favor to the Admiral was not the man who sat at her helm today.

And he had no idea what to do with that.

“All right Mairead, it’s your show. By the numbers,” Remi ordered via the intercom.

“Copy that,” she responded from Engineering, her voice calm and steady, though he could hear the anxiety she was fighting to suppress. “Bringing primary systems online… now.”

The bridge crew watched as one by one, monitors and tell-tales came to life. Engines, Life Support, Navigation, each system started running Self-Test diagnostics as they reactivated. Hunched over their consoles, the crew watched their screens intently, their fingers poised to shut them back down if the programs glitched. They collectively held their breath until startup was complete, double-checking with one another to ensure everything was operational.

“Talk to me, people,” the captain prompted them.

“... I think we’re golden,” Xuilan said cautiously, glancing from one display to the next, afraid to take her eyes from her console.

“Slavko?” Remi prodded the gunner. “Anything on your end?”

“I’m showing green across the board, Cap’n,” he assured him, “but I’d check with Mairead to be sure.”

Nodding in agreement, he thumbed the intercom button. “How are we looking down there?” he asked her.

There was a pause before she answered. “So far she looks good, Cap’n,” the Tinker said at last. “I’m seeing a few fluctuations, but they’re all within tolerances.”

“Very well,” he nodded. “Bring up the secondaries.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” she responded. “Bringing up secondary systems… now.”

Weapons, Communications, and Environmental Controls reawakened as well, under Mairead’s guidance, following the same startup procedures as the other processes, all under the crew’s watchful gaze.

“Anything out of spec?” Remi asked the others, as they once again scrutinized their readings, verifying the systems in question were fully operational.

“I’m almost afraid to jinx it,” the Tinker said carefully, “but I think we’re in business.”

He glanced over at his gunner and pilot. “Do you concur?” he asked them.

“I do, Cap’n,” Xuilan agreed. “I’m not saying something won’t pop up, but assuming these numbers are accurate, I’d feel comfortable taking her out.”

“I agree,” Slavko nodded, “though I’d be a lot happier if we had more crew on board.”

“If it’s feasible,” Remi cautioned them, before turning his attention to the next item on his list. Tapping an icon on his armrest, he brought up the ship-wide hail, announced by the ancient Bosun’s whistle… a meaningless gesture, since the other four members of his crew were already listening, but by God, he was going to do this right.

“All Hands, this is the Captain speaking,” he announced, his voice echoing throughout the empty corridors and compartments of the massive battleship. “By the authority vested in me from Admiral Kichirō Van Aalst, clan head and supreme commander of the Corsairs, I hereby reactivate the commission of this vessel, CCS Tyr, on this date. We beseech Holy Mother Terra to watch over and protect those that serve her, and we charge those that sail upon her not to fail in their trust.”

“SO SAY WE ALL!” the crew acknowledged, shouting their response. Their eyes glistened as they took their stations with pride… a pride not felt by those beneath the Corsair banner since a time all but forgotten.

Settling into his chair, he allowed himself to relax, now that they’d concluded the formalities. “Is our parting gift ready?” he asked the Tinker.

“Just say the word, Cap’n,” she assured him.

A wintry smile graced his features. “Bring up the main viewer,” he ordered, as Xuilan hastened to comply. The Troika research station appeared on screen, still nestled on the asteroid.

“At your convenience, Mairead,” he instructed her.

“With pleasure,” she said hungrily, as all eyes focused on the display. “Sending signal in three… two… one. Execute.”

A blinding flash detonated on the planetoid’s surface as the facility’s power plant went critical. The viewscreens automatically polarized, shielding them from harm while the blast slowly subsided. As the display cleared, they could see the station had been obliterated, the very rock it once stood upon now cracked in twain.

“Good luck getting any data from that,” Slavko chuckled.

“Excellent work,” Remi informed his engineer. “Well done.”

“I should thank you,” Mairead laughed. “Tinkers never get to cut loose like that.”

“Hopefully it makes up in some small way for the last month,” he smiled, before getting down to business. “We still have a shakedown cruise ahead of us while we put the old girl through her paces. By the time we hit New Terra, I want this ship and crew operating like the well-oiled machine I know we can be.”

The crew nodded at that. They’d all known what came next.

Pausing for a moment, he looked at his pilot. “Xuilan… lay in a course, and engage,” he ordered.

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” she responded, as Tyr headed for deep space.