The Eqe Aqawe Engine Room
"Not yet," Charlie answered rather cheerfully. He felt significantly better looking at the filthy engine and the equally filthy room around it than he had on the deck in the brush of Niccolette Ibutatu's monstrous field. No questions, at least, that he actually wanted the answers to. A few that were probably best left unasked, though. Charlie had moved in to look at it before Uzoji even left the room. He paused when the door opened and the screaming that had been quiet enough to ignore came spilling in. He did not smile back.
Whatever was going on, Charlie wanted no part of it. He prayed briefly to any god that would listen that he never found himself in need of the dubious mercies of Niccolette. It didn't sound like an experience he would enjoy at all.
Neither, he thought with a certain kind of pleasure, was the work on the engine going to be. He rolled up his sleeves, more for the action of it than to keep his already grubby sleeves from getting any worse. Rituals and shit, right? Charlie envisioned that the work might take him to the morning--but not beyond. Not as far as he could see now. He supposed he would find out in due time if his estimation was correct. Charlie set down his tools, tottering a little as the ship rocked again, and got to work.
A couple hours or so later, after a lot of cursing and getting himself up to his elbows black as pitch, Charlie was forced to admit that this was a bigger problem than he anticipated. Not, he thought fiercely, something he couldn't fix. But not quickly, and not without new parts. Whatever had happened to this engine, it was well and truly fucked. Charlie frowned at it. If there was a better solution, he didn't know what it was.
With great reluctance, he pulled the bell. While he waited, he continued to prod at it here and there, making what fixes he could--but he just wasn't sure it would be enough. "Some of the parts are fu--warped," he said without looking up when he heard footsteps behind him. "I made a list--hmm." He held the list out to his side, only realizing as he did so that the state of his hands had rendered it half unreadable.
"You ornery bastard," Charlie muttered, glaring at the engine even as he handled the part in his hand with great care.