"Only place they could put me that could deal with the explosions," The German commented cheerfully, waving for Matsuo to follow and double-timing it to the Vernichten's bay. The caution markings were a dead giveaway that the blue-and-gunmetal Walker wasn't quite meant to be a frontline unit, but all hands on deck meant all hands on deck. It was mostly ready, anyway, aside from the open panels where the relay in question waited to be corrected. He waved another hand at the work bench. "Careful. I think everything there's grounded out, but I haven't checked."
"Anyway, they tossed me here because the things I like to work on have a nonzero chance of blowing up. And I'm irreverent. That was the word, I think. The boss keeps me in line." A shrug, while Ben grabbed the replacement conduit off the workbench. "The girl's relays are a little different. But I assume you can hold a flashlight, right?"
"Somewhere."
The Japanese pilot frowned thoughtfully. Her Walker had been sent out ahead of her, by a few days. It should be there, somewhere. It was just a question of where. It wasn't an active unit, so it wouldn't be right near the entrance. It wasn't slated for use until it was relocated again onto the ship. Which also meant it wouldn't be completely prepared. But if she could find it, warm up the reactor...
Ayane nonchalantly grabbed an inventory pad off the wall, easy to do surreptitiously in all the confusion, and checked the logs. She knew the shipment date, she knew the contents, and she knew where her machine was slated to end up. All told, it took just a few moments of searching to find its present berth. She replaced the pad and took off at a brisk walk, duffel still thrown over her shoulder. Her course took her unerringly through the chaos, away from the hub of all the activity and around towards the back of the hangar. Her only words to the Luna native were a "this way", assuming that the other pilot would follow. The noise abated immediately once they circled around to the storage area, settling to a dull roar. There were fewer people back here, among the crate-laden pallets. There were plenty of forklifts around, a flat-bed truck or two for moving fully assembled Walkers, but the layout was almost arcane to anyone that didn't actually work there. The stored materials were all labeled with abbreviations, jargon if you didn't know what you were looking for.
Fortunately, Shipment #606-6 out of the Far East Brigade had only come in that morning. It was a holiday, no one had even had time to move it off the flatbed. It was covered with a tarp, secured quite thoroughly with a series of straps. It was impossible to make out anything more than the barest shape underneath, but she recognized the itemized shipment number attached to it.
"Ms. Marcus, I could use a hand removing the tarpaulin."
