Moore’s voice bounced through the ship, allowing Maggie to hear him despite the distance between them.  She couldn’t be sure where he was, but there were metallic sounds and groans accompanying his voice, so she figured he must have found the engine room and was hard at work. Briefly she hoped he would be careful, his chest had to be fragile, but she said nothing. It wasn’t her place to fuss over him and he was a perfectly capable adult. Instead she just listened while carefully ducking under warped pieces of metal from the ceiling and stepping over holes and flooring sticking up into the air.<br/><br/>A distress signal sounded smart. Perhaps someone would be flying by and would hear them and they would be able to get a ride off the planet. Or maybe they’d be able to get a radio out to someone and she could contact someone to let them know she was still trying to reach her father. She really,<i>really </i>needed to get to that outpost. There was no telling how long her father would be kept alive or if he even was still breathing. Really, there was no way to know if she could even save him, but he was her father. Maggie had to try. And that meant surviving whatever this new planet threw at them so she could get airborne again.<br/><br/>Maggie reached the room that had been designated as hers and found the door to be only a third of the way open. It must have become dislodged in the fall and its sliding mechanism destroyed for a push on it yielded nothing. With a small sigh, Maggie gave it another hard push and had nothing to show of it. Briefly she debated waiting to see if Moore might have the strength to fully open the door, but he was still in the bowels of the engine room, yelling out about the engine running. Luckily she was slender and managed to shimmy her way through the opening, gaining access to the small space she had called hers for only a few days.<br/><br/>Inside was a mess. The belongings she had not bothered to pack away were slung and the wall between her room and Curtis’s had caved into his room, leaving the space to be unnaturally cavernous. Maggie reached for the backpack tossed on the floor first, the worn russet leather soft and familiar. Happy to see it had no damage from the fall, she brought it over to the drawers built into one of the intact walls so she could pack up clothing. She didn’t know if they’d end up staying and if they were not going to, she wanted to be ready to leave. Plus there was no telling if the ship would remain stable; she would much prefer to be ready to go with clothing than to have to rush around trying to throw together whatever she could reach.<br/><br/>Toiletries went in next, as did a hairbrush and the spare rounds to the handgun still strapped to her thigh. She was a bit old-fashioned, preferring actual bullets to the high-energy beams so many guns boasted, and hoped she would have no need to use the piece, but it was a source of comfort. It was familiar and what she knew. What she had been trained to shoot. After giving the gun an absent pat on her thigh, Maggie threw the backpack over her shoulder and glanced around to make sure she had everything she thought she could carry. There was still a bit of room in the bag, so on impulse, she dragged the top sheet off her single bed and shoved it in the backpack. She didn’t know what they would use it for, but extra fabric could come in handy.<br/><br/>Once she was finished buckling her backpack closed, Maggie went back to slip through the confining entrance to her room. Moore’s room was on the other side of Curtis’s and with the door open, she figured it okay for her to step in. She did so while fussing with one of the side straps of her backpack that had come undone, her voice distracted, “So I packed a bag just in case we need to make a quick exit or you don’t think we should stay the night here. Do you have any idea when—“ She had looked up to be graced with a view of a shirtless engineer standing under a dry showerhead. With the washroom in her immediate vision, Maggie was graced with a view of muscle, sweat, and an obviously irritated male face. The first two had caused her voice to trail off as awareness and appreciation crept in and Maggie was surprisingly suddenly very aware of Moore’s features. His job clearly kept him in prime shape and the results of doing that job meant all those glorious muscles were covered in a thin sheen of sweat that would have made any male-preferred woman weak at her knees. It was the look on his face that saved her from bumbling all over herself and melting into female puddle of hormones, however. It ruined the scene of masculine male, just finishing up a macho job and taking a manly shower.<br/><br/>A lopsided grin quirked Maggie’s full lips upward before she gestured toward the showerhead, “Water doesn’t work, huh?”