FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

~ Staff Sergeant Flint switched the diagnostic box over to its third mode, calling down the hallway. "Okay, now throw bus B." The panel on the tool sprang to life, taking readings and indicating its progress towards a conclusion. He glanced down the hallway to Julia, who he could see was visibly bored. With a grin, he started to explain, "I know we've been doing these readings for days; but enjoy the calm. It's easy practice for finding problems...", the dented and worn box giving a soft chime at the completed test, "...Bus E, now...", rocking the switch to its fourth position. The corgi resumed, ".. finding problems when everything's on fire."

~ Julia nodded respectfully, "Yes, sir." Flint decided to try and cheer her up, "Don't forget the shakedown next week, where we'll be breaking orbit." He made a gesture with his hands, miming the motions of a ship's vacuum drive warping the space around the hull. "You can relax; it's almost lunch.", still grinning down the hall to the fox. "Come down here and watch the results come in; Bus E is always the slowest, on these ventral ducts."

~ "You lot are always in too much of a hurry to get out into the fleets; enjoy your time here with the mothballs." The old dog slapped a wall panel firmly, "These old ships need folks aboard to keep an eye on them, in case they're needed." A bit of a grin forming in her muzzle, Julia noted, "And it's only a couple more months, yeah."

~ In no particular rush, Julia took the moment to make sure her uniform was resting correctly on her frame before trotting down the hallway with a yawn. "You think it's apples, today?", her mood improving with the thought of lunch. It was with the flicker of the lights that she stopping in place, and with the grinding churr of a sound that she instinctively braced against the nearest handle. She looked to SSgt Flint for some explanation, finding his expression that of flat panic as he rose in a combined motion of yanking the lever atop the tool box that should anchor itself to the floor and lunging for the nearest handle himself. "Hold onto that, for your life!", he yelled over the sound of a bismuth cannon's strike to the dorsal armor plates.

~ Flint dropped into the gutteral profanities of his home colony as the second and third strikes joined chorus with the first. From his reckoning, one to the port lattice and another on the dorsal plates. As the pair clung to anchoring points, the captain's strained voice came out over the intercom. The effort of jerking out the safety gappers from the engine control relays was audible in her tone, "BRACE", being all that she could muster before the relays slammed into operation.

~ The piercing spirals of sound vanished abruptly as the ship's lights went dim and nausea started to settle in. SSgt Flint always hated emergency jumps, with their absence of elegant spin up or noble calculations. Julia, her expression of shock and confusion, had never known such sensations possible. As the primary engine drank deep draughts of the standing reserve charge, the sensation came to just as abrupt a halt. Everything aboard seemed to flicker, even the groan over the intercom. While their balance returned, lights settled into dim operation on their own auxilary reservoirs of power.

~ Without much in the way of wits about her and the tone of someone far too dignified to admit to how much they had just vomited, the Captain could only think to finish her sentence. "...for emergency jump." By this point, Flint was on his feet and striding towards Julia. "Come on, we've got Centfuel to siphon from the runabouts.", his grin replaced with the grim determination that most readily conceals dread.