As Danasheth enters the vessel, attention is certainly paid, at least once she is through the airlock. The closest crewman is a large Ssaratha, his gliding membranes flushed with blood, a symbol of stress. While confusion appears to reign throughout the ship, at least upon the surface, the command structure is strong, and this one is high in it, grabbing crewmen and shouting at them as they pass, his lizardlike accent thick and strong. The boarder, too, is accosted nearly as soon as she enters, a his scaly face drawing back into a tight grin as he listens to her. It is not a pleasing sight, nor does any happiness lurk behind it. "Tow? Yesss, kids, unless ones of those void-breathers is able to get the engine going, we're goings to needs a slings, but we can'ts moves the hurts out of sick bays untils the bone-saws is dones. We have airs, at leasts in some places, just not thrusts!"
Following Gom's gesture, Erik draws in several breaths, purging his lungs and hyper-oxygenating his blood, before the other space-dwarf palms open the doorway, opening directly onto the void that is the engine room. Exposed directly to space, the nictating membrane close over each Salvorathan's eyes, and while Erik propels himself into the chamber, digging for his multi-tool, Gom hangs back, holding fast to a panel near the doorway.
Surprisingly, the tremendous room is in good shape, it's just been dumped into the void, and had some very critical lines ruptured. Specifically, the main fuel line into the fusion generator has been severed, and it hisses hydrogen into the void, the liquid flow boiling away into tiny flakes, not entirely unlike snow. It is with great effort, and a heavy heave on his breath-pack that Erik is able to twist the manual shut off to the line. The automatics, it seems, are vapor expanding into the void now.
Working on the instinct of a packrat, Erik then patches the line. Invoved are no more, and no less, than the former engineer's chair, some of the cooling slag of the previous wall, bubblegum, and a healthy portion of the irradiated ration that he had been previously eating. Sturdy, no, close to gas tight, yes. A quick scan of the system, and he locates a small leak to the coolant lines, a bit more of his gunk reparing that, and clearing the way for a slow rise of the reactor containment. Slow and steady wins the day here as well, for on the way up, the dwarf is forced to realign a single magnet on the containment field - a simple repair, but critical to the non-explosion of the reactor. The ship will still need its time in drydock, but now it just might be able to get there, if it is not attacked again.
As the reactor comes up, all and sundry can feel the hum of the ship begin anew, life-support reappearing with a surprising thump throughout the hull as the fans begin to blow air once more, at least to the segments that the computer can see as still having pressure. A quick check more, and Erik and Gom begin to withdraw, towards the ship itself, as it begins to thrum with the live feeling of a running reactor.
Across the merchantman, a ragged cheer goes up, lead by the mate that Danasheth had confronted. "Ssss! Perhaps we pulls into docks after all." His clawed forefinger points up the hallways, then, as he looks in it. "Go thats ways, though, little spacers. The Captains will wants to speaks with yous."
Meanwhile, as Alice sorties outside his own ship, the full extent of the damage to Old Ben becomes apparent. It is disheartening to look at, at first, but the availability of relatively simple machining tools will make somewhat sturdier repairs possible, though again, dry-dock time will be desirable. Still, with determination in head, the basic repairs to make the ship habitable are relatively easily accomplished, between robot and master, sealant being deployed as neccesary. As the hookups to the other ship are made, direct line comms with them finally coming on line, the quick identification of friend, rather than foe, and the request coming down to Alice for plate metal and maybe a radio unit if one can be spared. While the radio is simple for Alice to supply, the hull plating required is enough to put a serious strain on the Old Bens current raw material storage, if it is supplied in full.
(OOC: Repair is a success. Old Ben is functional, but not up to 'combat shape'. You can act without penalty, but your 'hp' is still redlined.)
As the others work on the injured merchant man, Kestral has been flying overwatch, pulling a simple orbit, while trying to pick out the choicer bits for salvage. Some tempting bits float - entire wings and turrets, as well as a few small cargo compartments float among the assorted rubble.
