The interior of the ship was somehow in worse shape than the exterior.  The bottom levels of the ship had been sheared off and the entire vessel rested on the lingering walls and support struts that hadn't been stripped away.  Ceilings that were previously high now required them to lean down to pass under and the ship was on a precarious tilt.  Some dangling wires sparked madly, and pipes vented what seemed like the remnants of coolant.  Somewhere in the ship's exposed guts and sparking veins, a living heart still beat, at least for the moment.  That meant a lot of things, but chief among them it meant there was still a chance of a cascading thermonuclear fusion reaction.  He'd take time to think about the other things later.<br/><br/>Moore had to crawl below a door that had been sheared off from about the waist down, but managed to squeeze into the engine room.  It was in good condition, mostly.  A small segment near the aft wall had been sheared away, letting a soft breeze into the engine room.  This turned out to be a blessing because the engine room turned out to be stiflingly hot.  The reactor was clearly still working, though it was obvious that the plethora of power-hungry devices, gravity generators, climate control, communications, nav and of course the engines (which were mostly strewn over a 20-mile stretch) were no longer operational, resulting in a buildup of the heat energy the reactor output.<br/><br/>The engineer quickly stripped off his jacket, carrying it with him as he approached the reactor, the heat intensifying.  Under the heavy canvas coat that kept the chill of the recirculated air off of him during long flights, he wore a plain black sleeveless v-neck shirt.  The engine room was always a bit toastier than the rest of the ship, and by now he'd learned to layer properly.  Generally, though, it never got this warm, now raising past 120 degrees, he saw, in a wall-mounted thermometer.  That small gash in the hull, allowing fresh air in, was probably the only reason they hadn't gone critical already.  Someone certainly seemed to be looking out for them!<br/><br/>Moore searched his mind in response to Maggie's question, trying to remember more of what the planetary display had read.  Between the turbulence, some breathing troubles, and immense pain, he'd had some difficulties focusing on it, and unfortunately didn't have much to add.  "No, I don't.  If I can get the reactor sorted, I should be able to get our computers back online and maybe even get us access to the database.  Then we can figure out what's really going on down here."<br/><br/>He reached the reactor and began to shut down individual cores.  The ship had five isolated reactors that it used to cycle power requirements so that a single core never overheated.  It also provided substantial redundancy.  The ship only<i>needed</i>two to limp home, or provide climate control, limited gravity and air-scrubbing while maintaining comms and emergency power until help arrived.  Since their new planetary home was not too inhospitable, they'd likely only need one running to power anything and everything they had at their disposal.  That would be enough that the ambient heat would not be too critical, Of course, getting the power converted to the appropriate amperage for some of the tools that were (maybe) still on board could be tricky, depending on the state of the wiring and reactor output, but not going nuclear was the first priority.<br/><br/>Moore wrapped his jacket around his hand and pulled large switches (with significant effort) to shut off individual cores, releasing the single, enriched heavy metal rod from each reactor and dragging it across the service area to the containment cells, shoving them in with a snarl and locking them in position.  It took some time so he tried to talk through his best ideas with Maggie as he did the work.  "First thing's first, if we can get a distress beacon up and running, that will be step one.  Even if the ship's fucked, it may be able to do that much for us, at least."  He grunted with effort as he dragged one of the rods across the floor, working hard to keep from agitating his rib.  "It might still be serviceable shelter, as long as it's safe, but the bottom on this thing is gone, and I'm not sure how stable this area is.  It might start sinking soon.  It'll probably do for now, though, since we can get out from the cockpit."<br/><br/>He growled again, another loud clang as a fuel rod impacted the steel floor.  "Maybe we can the radio up and running too.  If there is anyone on this planet -- rangers or survivors from the station, maybe we can meet up with them, up our chances."<br/><br/>He emerged several minutes later, finally complete with his task, crawling from under the half-door that lead to the engine bay.  It took him nearly fifteen minutes, but he'd gotten the engine to a point where he wasn't worried about getting fried, though his shirt was soaked, and his slick body shimmered with the sweat of exertion and heat.  It was easy to miss under the heavy jacket, which he now sported tied around his waist, but his upper body was built for tasks like the heavy lifting he'd just completed.  The thin fabric of the shirt betrayed his powerful shoulders, arms and chest.  He was in fine shape, which under the attractive sheen was easy to appreciate.  He looked a little light-headed, but otherwise fine.<br/><br/>"Well, the engine's up and we may have some controls alive.  The emergency lights seem to be working, for the most part."  He wiped his brow with a wrist, the action accomplishing next to nothing but making both surfaces impossibly slicker.  "I'll check around the ship, see what's online.  Just, be careful of any wires.  They're still live and some might arc a bit."  He turned, heading towards the slanted stairwell.  "Might start by checking out the shower," he mused deadpan, hoping for some cool water to bring his temperature down.<br/><br/>He began to pull himself up the slanted stairs, still serviceable though noticeably more precarious.  He was able to get to his cabin without too much difficulty (he'd left the door open thankfully, so the force of the ship hitting didn't jam it), and he stripped off his undershirt, standing under the showerhead which appeared to be in solid shape.  With a hand on the faucet, he said a silent prayer and turned it.<br/><br/>The plumbing gurgled briefly, shuddered, and then went silent.  No water flowed.<br/><br/>He stood under the showerhead for a moment, eyes clenching shut in annoyance.  "Figures," he mumbled.  The water tanks were on the bottom deck for stability.